


Infatuation, Actually

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Ish?? - Freeform, Love Potion/Spell, Mutual Pining, Pidge Birthday Exchange 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Pidge never learned basic gun safety. Lance suffers the nonfatal consequences.





	Infatuation, Actually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AutumnFandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnFandoms/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I have never seen the movie _Love, Actually_. I just ripped off its title because I thought it would be funny
> 
> Anyway, this is a gift for [pidgelings](pidgelings.tumblr.com/) for the Pidge Birthday Exchange!! They asked for a love spell/love potion trope, and hopefully I delivered
> 
> ~~i just hope this plot isn't sloppy~~

“This is _officially_ the strangest gun I have ever seen,” Lance said. He held the grip in both hands, one eye closed as he sighted down the barrel. “I mean, look at this!” He gestured towards Pidge with it.

Pidge waved her hand, beckoning for him to pass it to her. She took it gingerly in both hands, carefully so she didn’t contaminate it since, somehow, it was biologically sensitive and reacted to whoever held it. “Huh,” she said, laying it on her desk and examining it.

The gun shone in the bright hangar lights, molded of a brassy metal rather than wood and plastics. It sat heavy in her hands, almost _too_ heavy for anyone to comfortably carry for very long. And aside from the odd material, it looked utterly unremarkable, a gun in the shape of a rifle, similar to the blaster formed by Lance’s bayard, except…

Except there was no cartridge to insert bullets or even a laser. As far as Pidge could tell, it was just a hollowed out hunk of gun-shaped metal with a trigger device.

“I’m going to take it apart,” Pidge decided.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lance wondered, hovering nearby as she searched for the best place to start dismantling it.

“Yeah?” Pidge said. She glanced over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow, trying not to feel too self-conscious under his scrutiny. “The Aviarans gave it to you as a _gift_.”

“Which means that _I_ obviously get to be the one to decide what happens to it,” Lance pointed out, leaning over her to rest a hand on the rifle’s handle.

Pidge bit her lip when his arm brushed against hers, inching away from him, and asked, “Lance, would you be so kind as to allow me to dismantle your _gift_?”

Lance shifted, standing beside her, and crossed his arms. “Only if you promise to put it back together when you’re done.”

Pidge grinned, surprised that it had been that easy (she’d worried she would’ve had to bring _Hunk_ in to take her side), and settled into her chair. “I just want to know how it works,” she told Lance. “It’s so…it’s so _weird_. There’s a hollow barrel, so it _should_ , theoretically, take bullets or some other ammunition”—she spun the gun around and pointed to the end of the barrel—”but there’s no place to put them!”

“And no laser?”

She shook her head. “None.”

Lance leaned against her desk, frowning contemplatively. “Well…Jay - the Aviaran that gave it to me - explained something about it.”

Pidge spun her head around to stare at him. “And you’re only _now_ telling me this?”

Lance blinked at her. “It’s not like she told me _why_ it worked, only _what_ it does.”

“So tell me!”

“All right, all right.” Lance rolled his eyes, but before Pidge could snap at him to get on with it, he continued, “Apparently it’s some sort of… _emotional_ gun.”

Pidge quirked an eyebrow at him. “And that means…what does that mean?”

Lance chuckled. “It means that the wielder kind of…shoots feelings…at their target?”

Pidge snorted. “That makes no sense.”

“No, no, I’m not explaining this right.” Lance’s eyes wandered around the hangar, as if searching for a better explanation from the Green Lion or the walls that housed her, then they alighted on Pidge again, and he smiled. “Okay, imagine you’re in the middle of a battle.”

“Don’t really need to imagine it,” Pidge muttered.

Lance ignored her and plowed on, hands already gesturing wildly. “Okay, you’re in the middle of a battle, and your enemies don’t fear you, but you _want_ them to!”

“So you…shoot them with a feelings gun so that they fear you?”

“Exactly!” Lance snapped his fingers, smiling when she understood.

Pidge furrowed her eyebrows at him. “That sounds kind of insidious though.” She rested her hand on the gun’s handle, peering at it with fresh eyes. “That’s so…weird. A gun that anyone can pick up and then just make someone feel something they don’t want to?”

Lance shrugged, but he frowned a little worriedly, perhaps considering the implications of it. “You may have a point…” He rubbed the back of his neck, then added, “Oh, you _definitely_ have a point…but according to Jay the effects don’t last long. They’re just very _intense_ for that little while.”

Pidge hummed. “I wonder what sort of mechanism enables it to affect emotions though?”

“Ha, I guess that’s where you come in, right?”

“Right.” Pidge sighed. “I don’t think I’d want to replicate anything like that.”

“I know.” Lance rested a hand on her shoulder, and when she glanced up at him she couldn’t spot a trace of levity on his face. “Actually, now that I think about it…if you or Hunk could find a way to…make it harmless? I want to keep it, since it was a gift, but—”

Pidge smiled and patted his hand. “I’ll do my best,” she promised, “especially since it gives me a chance to see how it works.”

Lance grinned. “Thanks, Pidge.” He squeezed her shoulder. “If anyone can figure it out, you can.”

Pidge bit her lip, pretending that heat didn’t rush to her cheeks and trying to hide how pleased she was with the compliment.

She set to work immediately by searching for a crack or crevice in the weapon, a place where two pieces clearly met and pressed together. When she found one, she used a wedge to carefully pry them apart, revealing the bowels of the gun.

“Is that a…Balmeran crystal?” Lance asked.

Pidge flinched - she’d forgotten he was there - but narrowed her eyes at the mineral. With a pair of tweezers, she delicately picked out the slender shard of clear crystal and held it under her desk lamp. Like a prism, it scattered colored light in all directions, though it was so thin that Pidge thought she could snap it between two fingers with minimal effort.

“That’s pretty,” Lance remarked.

Pidge frowned at him, but he only shrugged when he met her eyes. She sighed, annoyed, but did her best to ignore him.

She set the crystal on a glass slide and returned her attention to the gun, which, now that she looked at it once more, seemed like nothing more than a hunk of shapely polished metal.

Lance apparently agreed for he said, “Well that was anticlimactic.”

Pidge smiled. “It must be powered by the crystal,” she said. “I wonder how it… _bonds_ to the wielder.” Cautiously, she touched a fingertip to the crystal.

It changed color, washing from perfectly clear to a transparent green.

Pidge, alarmed by the sudden change, withdrew her hand, watching with wide eyes as it faded back to its original colorless state.

“Holy crow,” Lance said. He knelt on the floor beside her chair, his arms propped on the desk, and leaned towards the crystal. “It…changes color if you touch it?” He glanced sideways at Pidge, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded, and, accepting her permission, prodded the crystal with his pinkie.

Lance whistled appreciatively as it turned a pale translucent blue, a little deeper in color than Balmeran crystals. “That’s really cool,” he said, moving his hand away only to touch it again.

Pidge tapped her fingers on her desk, watching Lance entertain himself with the crystal. What made this one different than any other crystal she’d seen? And what did the gun do to weaponize it?

“What’re you guys up to?”

So absorbed by the crystal and the sight of Lance’s curiosity with it was Pidge that she didn’t notice Hunk until he spoke. She jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning around in her chair, although Lance, calmer, stood up and approached him.

“Pidge was just checking out that gun that Jay gave me,” Lance explained to him.

“And Jay is…?” Hunk asked.

Pidge only half-listened to their conversation as she picked the crystal back up with the tweezers, careful about positioning it over the split gun to return it to its place.

“You know, that Aviaran whose life I saved.”

Pidge could practically _hear_ Lance preening; she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, their chief’s granddaughter, huh?” Hunk mused.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” said Lance. Pidge could imagine him grinning.

She snapped the gun back into one piece with a little more force than necessary, something unpleasant and _annoyed_ turning in her gut. It sat heavily in her hands as she wound her fingers around the barrel and the grip, examining it to find some mechanism by which it channeled whatever _energy_ the crystal held to fire.

“I’m probably going to regret telling you this,” Hunk said, “but she was totally into you.”

Lance laughed and quipped, “Well, not that I blame her, but unfortunately for her, _my_ heart is already taken.”

Pidge’s eye twitched, and oh, how she _hated_ the way her heart sank with something uncomfortably like disappointment, jealousy sitting hotly in her stomach. Her grip around the gun tightened.

She squeezed the trigger without meaning to.

The effect was instantaneous, the metal of the gun heating in her hands, almost scalding her skin, the barrel emitting a single beam of green light.

It struck Lance, still turned towards Hunk, in the shoulder.

Pidge threw the gun away from her, staring wide-eyed at her red hands before looking up at Lance, heart pounding. What…what did she do?

“ _Quiznak_ ,” she hissed as she waited for some kind of reaction.

“I know it is, buddy,” Hunk was saying, patting Lance’s shoulder.

Lance sighed and slumped, forlorn rather than almost _amused_ like before, and turned his head to look at Pidge. “I think I’m just starting to accept that she will never feel the same way about me as I do about her,” he said. He smiled at Pidge, a sad edge to it. “Shot through the heart, right?”

Pidge blinked at him, confused as her mind turned his words over. “More like through the shoulder,” she said.

Lance laughed. “Aha, good one, Pidge.” He rubbed his shoulder, as if only now feeling where the beam struck him, but said, “I think I need to go lie down. I’ll see you guys later.” Without another word, he walked away from them and out of the Green Lion’s hangar.

Pidge and Hunk watched him go with twin shocked expressions, then Hunk rounded on Pidge and demanded, “What did you do?”

Pidge raised her hands defensively and admitted, “I shot him! I didn’t mean to though!”

Hunk stared at her. “How the quiznak do you not _mean_ to shoot him? And it’s a gun! Why isn’t he injured?”

Pidge bit her lip and averted her eyes from his accusatory face. “It’s a…feelings gun.”

“What?” Hunk said incredulously.

“It’s a _feelings_ gun!” Pidge said. She gestured towards the weapon lying on her desk and explained, “It’s supposed to make the victim feel whatever the wielder wants them to feel, except I didn’t want Lance to feel sad!”

“Then what did you want him to feel?” Hunk said.

Pidge’s gaze snapped back to his face, surprised that he didn’t seem so shocked by the gun’s function, though perhaps considering Lance’s sudden mood swing, it wasn’t _that_ strange. “I didn’t want him to feel anything,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just…I was annoyed with your conversation and I…accidentally squeezed the trigger.”

“Pidge…”

“What?” Pidge glared at him, but before Hunk could say anything, she buried her face in her hands. “I’m so quiznaking _stupid_. It’s basic gun safety to point it away from anything you wouldn’t want to shoot, and—”

“Wait, Pidge, hold on,” Hunk said, and when she glanced up at him he held a hand up. “What _exactly_ were you thinking about when you fired?

Pidge racked her brain, twining a few strands of hair around a finger as she thought. “I…about how I didn’t like the idea of Lance…and that Aviaran girl,” she gritted out. She sighed, but then something else occurred to her and she said, “We were told the gun’s effects fade fast. He should be back to normal in about one quintant.”

Despite her words, shame still made her stomach churn, and she couldn’t look Hunk in the eye.

“Pidge,” Hunk said cautiously, “if this gun makes someone feel the way the wielder wants them to feel…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. “Forget the gun and what you were thinking about Lance in the tic you shot him.” Pidge winced at that, but allowed him to continue, “How do you _usually_ want Lance to feel?”

She rubbed her arms, face warm, and said, “I-I don’t know! Happy, I guess?” She shrugged. “Definitely not _sad_.”

“Come on, Pidge,” Hunk said. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and when she glanced up at his face, he smiled encouragingly at her. “It’s…well, this isn’t a _good_ accident, but it’s one that can be fixed. Just tell me.”

Pidge groaned and buried her face in her arms. “I want him to…feel the same way about me as I do about him.”

“There,” said Hunk. “Was that so hard?”

“Shut up,” Pidge grumbled. “You didn’t just shoot your crush with a feelings gun.” Then she picked her head up and raised an eyebrow. “And we don’t know that he’ll… _reciprocate_ now, not until he…you know.” Her heart thumped almost painfully, and she rested a hand on her chest.

Quiznak, _did_ the gun give Lance feelings for Pidge? _Fake_ feelings that didn’t mean anything and would poof out of existence in less than a quintant?

On top of that, Pidge wasn’t sure how _she_ felt about that.

“Well,” Hunk said with a shrug, pulling Pidge from her tumultuous thoughts, “there’s only one way to find out.”

Pidge swallowed. It was the first time since the Garrison that she actually _dreaded_ facing Lance.

* * *

It took longer than Pidge expected for her to see Lance again, and she spent the ensuing time seeking to distract herself from the anxiety, scanning reports from various Coalition members for Allura and Coran. Though it was mind-numbingly dull, it helped, at least for a brief time, take her mind off what felt like impending disaster.

“Are you all right, Pidge?” Allura wondered after Pidge handed in her analysis about the fertility of a moon newly settled with refugees.

“Perfect,” Pidge said, forcing a smile onto her face.

She quickly dismissed herself, limbs heavy after a long, emotionally draining day, and wandered to her room with the hope she could sleep the night away and the weapon mishap would prove to be a dream when she woke.

If she fell asleep at all.

Pidge tossed and turned in bed for what felt like vargas. When she finally slipped into a shallow doze, a soft knock sounded from her door, followed by a quiet inquiry, “Hey, Pidge, are you still awake?”

Even through a door, Lance’s voice, pitched so low, sent a shiver traveling up her spine. For a moment she dared to hope - she wasn’t sure for what - and opened her mouth to reply…only to remember why she struggled to slip into dreams.

It hurt, made her heart squeeze, but she ignored him. Instead she rolled onto her side and pinched her eyes shut.

“Pidge?”

Pidge silently willed Lance to leave, to make this easier on both of them, but with the exception of the stupid gun, she’d never been able to impose her will simply by wishing it so.

“Maybe you’re asleep,” Lance said, voice cracking, “but quiznak, Pidge, I can’t sleep well without you there.”

She muffled a frustrated groan with her sleeve, something in her giving at Lance’s pathetic tone, and grumbled, “Come in, Lance.”

Pidge’s bedroom door slid open, and Lance, silhouette outlined in the faint blue light spilling in from the hallway, entered. She sat up, watching a wide smile, the kind that filled her chest with warmth, spread across his face.

But then the smile faltered, so suddenly Pidge thought she imagined its existence.

“Did I wake you up?” Lance asked.

Pidge shook her head. “No, I was having trouble sleeping too,” she admitted. After nibbling on her lip, considering Lance standing there in her bedroom doorway, she sighed and twitched her blankets aside. “Do you want to sleep—”

Lance didn’t wait for her to finish asking, eagerly striding towards her and sitting on the edge of her bed. He kicked off his Blue Lion slippers and laid down, tugging her blankets up to cover his chest as he smiled up at Pidge.

Her heart pounded almost painfully in her chest. This was new territory for her - she’d never shared a bed with anyone, not even Matt, since long before entering the Garrison - and with Lance’s condition…

Guilt evaded her as she lay back down, the shared warmth between Lance and her all but washing it away.

“Pidge,” Lance said, so softly, when they both lay on their sides facing each other.

“What?” Pidge blinked slowly at him, eyelids growing heavy with sleep.

“Can I…hold you?”

Pidge met his eyes, wondering if she could see something amiss in them were she more lucid. She hummed and said, “Yes, but no funny business.”

“Not even a joke?”

She snorted but smiled when his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him, her head nestled under his chin. “Maybe in the morning,” she told him as she snaked her own arms around him, her hands pressing into his back while their legs tangled under the blankets. “I’m about to fall asleep.”

It was so comfortable, lying like this, with his heartbeat under her ear and the rise and fall of his chest nudging her. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, and she couldn’t help smiling as he shifted against her.

It would be so easy, Pidge thought, to get used to this, to do something as simple as sleep in the same bed, where they could reassure each other when waking up from a nightmare, or talk and tease well into the night cycle while everyone else slept. She could run her fingers through his hair - like she imagined more times than she would ever admit - as much as she wanted, and he could press a kiss to her forehead.

It would be easy…

* * *

Pidge woke tangled in bedsheets and another person’s limbs, well-rested and warm. For a moment she savored it, her arms winding tighter around someone else’s body.

Warm breath stirred her hair and caressed her forehead, and Pidge tilted her head back to see Lance already awake with a lazy, almost dopey grin on his face.

“You have awful morning breath,” Pidge told him, wrinkling her nose.

Lance’s face fell. “I know,” he said, breathing into his hand and sniffing. “I’ll brush my teeth for you.”

Pidge blinked at him, surprised. “For _me_?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’d do anything for you.”

The simple statement made her heart pound faster and blood rush to her cheeks, but an unpleasant chill ran down her spine. She tried to smile - she might even have succeeded - and said, “I need to brush my teeth too, so let me up.” She rested her hand on his chest, nudging him aside, and for a long few tics he didn’t move. “Lance?”

He tightened his arms. “Stay in bed a little longer?”

“Can’t,” she said, prodding his side and making him twitch. “There’s breakfast, and I’d rather avoid anyone asking questions—”

“Are you ashamed of me, Pidge?” Lance slid down to look her in the eye.

Pidge bit her lip. “Lance, we’re not…we’re just… _friends_.” Her heart dropped into her stomach, both at her own words and Lance’s frown.

“Right, I guess nothing’s really changed, huh?” Lance sighed and pulled away from her, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair. He laughed without any humor as he leaned down to search for his slippers.

“Lance…” Pidge sat up, hesitating before resting a hand on his shoulder. When he let her, it encouraged her to continue, “I like being friends.” _True._ “I’m _happy_ we’re friends.” _True…_ “It’s just that you’re basically under a love spell.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, scowling so _suddenly_. “So what?” he demanded.

Pidge threw her hands up, frustrated. “What do you mean, _so what_? Lance, your feelings…they’re not real. They’ll be gone in less than a quintant, and we’ll both be embarrassed and awkward for a little while and—” She cut herself off, the reality of the situation hitting her.

Lance didn’t want her; he never had. And the simple act of sleeping in the same bed would live in her thoughts, both a fond memory and a mortifying idea once Lance reverted to his right mind.

Lance quirked an eyebrow at her. “And what, Pidge?”

“Eventually you’ll forget it,” Pidge said softly.

“I couldn’t.”

“You will though,” Pidge insisted. She shifted until she sat beside him, her feet hanging off the edge of the bed, and rested her elbows on her knees. “Or, it won’t mean as much to you in a few quintants as you think it does now.”

Lance snorted and said, “If you think that, then you don’t know me at all.” He stood, extending his arms over his head and stretching. His sleep shirt rode up, exposing a dark stripe of skin.

Pidge averted her eyes but her face warmed. She dropped her face into her hands as Lance finally left and grumbled, “Quiznak, I’m so _stupid_.”

She couldn’t tell what of Lance was real and what was induced by that gun and its crystal. He seemed so _earnest_ \- almost enough to make her question her own conclusions - that something like hope flickered within her, hope that he _might_ return her feelings, that maybe the gun didn’t affect him much at all.

Pidge grinned as she readied herself for the day cycle.

* * *

Breakfast quickly put the lie to her musing, when Lance hovered around her for the entire meal.

“Do you have enough food?” he asked when the first sporkful of goo was halfway to her mouth. He propped his elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm, his eyes focused on her face with enough intensity that heat crawled over her skin.

“Yes,” Pidge said, pointedly stuffing the spork into her mouth and glaring at him. She chewed - more than she needed to - and savored the tasteless mush, then swallowed, holding Lance’s eyes the entire time. “Now _you_ eat.”

His eyebrows drew down. “But you only had a bite, Pidge.”

Pidge ate another, and another, and another, and when her bowl lay half-empty, Lance at last picked up his own spork and dug into his meal…at least until he wondered, “Are you thirsty? Do you want a glass of water?”

“I’m fine, Lance,” she said with a sigh.

“Then why did you just sigh?” Lance asked, narrowing his eyes at her almost suspiciously. “Are you cold?” He stood and took off his jacket. “Here, if you’re cold—”

“Lance, I think Pidge is fine,” Hunk finally interrupted after exchanging a glance with Pidge.

“Yeah, why don’t you eat your food?” Pidge said.

Lance brandished his jacket towards her. “But—”

“Here, if you’re so worried about mine, you can have it.” She pushed her bowl towards him.

Lance stared at it, then glanced at her. “Then what will _you_ eat?”

Pidge gnashed her teeth, frustrated. “Lance—”

“What’s the problem?” Allura asked from her place more than halfway down the table. She’d already emptied her bowl, and a data pad sat in front of her, her eyes scanning it.

“Pidge isn’t taking care of herself, Princess,” Lance said before Pidge could so much as open her mouth.

She flailed her spork at him and retorted, “You need to stop coddling me.”

“I’m not coddling you!” Lance fired back. “You _do_ look cold!”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Pidge hissed. She pushed her chair back and stood up. “I think I’m going to read. Call me if you need anything.” She stomped out of the dining room, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

Her head throbbed as she walked down to the Green Lion’s hangar, and as she pressed her fingers into her temple, she sagged. This wasn’t at _all_ what she’d wanted!

The Green Lion greeted her with a rumble as the hangar doors slid open. Pidge smiled, her constant presence in her mind strengthening with one less barrier between them.

But then her gaze caught on the gun still lying dismantled on her desk, the clear crystal glittering in the hangar’s lights, and her stomach twisted into a knot.

Pidge bit her lip, uncertain. “Just another few vargas,” she reminded herself. “Just another few vargas and he’ll be back to normal.”

When that thought didn’t soothe her - when her heart instead ached - she crossed her arms and shivered, wishing she’d accepted Lance’s offered jacket.

Pidge approached her desk, sitting on the stool and pulling the crystal towards her. It flashed green at the touch of a finger, changing in color before her eyes. “Green when I touch it…” She frowned. “It was blue when Lance did.”

Tuned to their quintessence, maybe?

She pulled her hand away, and the rich green faded back into a clear crystal.

As she examined the crystal from all angles, she wondered if it had a similar effect without the gun acting as a conduit, but before she could consider that too deeply, the intercom clicked into life.  
“Pidge?” Allura’s voice filled the hangar. “I have a mission for you. Please join us on the bridge for the briefing.”

Pidge sighed and decided the mystery of the crystal would have to wait.

Once in the bridge, she scanned its occupants. Aside from Allura and Coran (and Allura’s mice), only Lance was present. He had his arms crossed tightly, shoulders stiff and a scowl on his face.

Pidge frowned, wondering what had upset him, but when Allura cleared her throat her attention snapped over to her instead. “You have a mission for me, Princess?”

Allura smiled briefly. “Yes, the refugees on Triage 6 have a new security satellite orbiting the moon,” she explained. “They asked if we might send you to help make sure everything is working smoothly after they boot up its systems.”

“Oh.” Pidge grinned. “I’d love to.” The technology on Triage 6’s new satellite was experimental, courtesy of Olkarion and a few other worlds, and though she had some involvement with developing the prototypes, she had yet to see the final product.

“I thought you would,” Allura said brightly. “The mission will be short and routine, of course, so unless you want company—”

“I’ll go,” Lance interrupted.

Pidge swiveled her head around to stare at him. She’d _never_ heard him interrupt Allura, least of all while she gave the Paladins instructions.

Allura pressed her lips together but said, “If Pidge agrees to take you with her.”

“I don’t,” Pidge said, pretending that the disappointment crossing Lance’s face didn’t affect her. “Like you said, it’s routine, so I won’t need help.”

“Now, Number Five,” Coran said, “perhaps you should take him with you for backup. Unfortunately, Triage 6’s leaders have reported some violence in their system from fragments of the Empire. You could—”

“I don’t need to take anyone with me,” Pidge insisted, “least of all Lance.” No, not in his condition, because she couldn’t predict how he would behave while on a mission with her, not when his mood shifted almost at the drop of a pin.

“What do you have against Lance?” Allura wondered, her eyes drifting from Pidge’s face to Lance’s. “Does this have anything to do with what happened at breakfast?”

Pidge blinked, scrambling for some excuse other than _“I accidentally shot him with a gun that made him think he’s in love with me”_. “H-he—uh, we just—you know, I wouldn’t want him to…distract me. You know how he his.” She gestured towards him while he gasped indignantly. “He never takes anything seriously, so he’ll make jokes while I’m trying to work.”

“I can take things seriously,” Lance grumbled, averting his gaze from her. “I take your safety seriously…”

His sincerity took her aback, and memories of him protecting her from countless enemies resurfaced. Her hands curled into fists as she appraised him. “I know you do,” she admitted, “but we _all_ take each other’s safety seriously.” A sigh escaped her, and she turned away from Lance and back towards Allura, ignoring the discomfort that sat deep in her belly.

“Well, I agree with Coran,” Allura said. “You and Lance will both go, and I, for one, think you work well together.” She smiled in what Pidge supposed was an encouraging manner, but it did little to banish the dread filling her.

Pidge forced herself to meet Lance’s eyes. “You’d better behave,” she warned him.

Lance grinned - and oh, why did the sight of it _still_ warm her? - and promised, “Anything for you, Pidge.”

Pidge wished she could believe him.

* * *

The densely forested moon named Triage 6 by the Coalition orbited a colorful gas giant with electricity dancing in its atmosphere - electricity that arced up from it and struck the security satellite at irregular intervals. The lights inside flickered before stabilizing, and the surveillance instruments blacked out for a tic before returning to life.

Pidge frowned at Olin, the chief operator and currently the only personnel aboard the satellite. “Is that…safe?” she asked him.

“Safe enough,” Olin replied, though one of his antennae twitched.

Pidge stared at him disbelievingly, but when he didn’t change his response, she sighed and made a mental note to tell Allura. It wouldn’t do for a Coalition outpost to have a glaring security issue.

“What if you harnessed the lightning?” Lance suggested from nearby. He had his eyes narrowed at the portal, fixing them on the gas giant floating in space below. “You know…use them as energy to operate the satellite?” His gaze flicked over to Pidge, a hint of a hopeful smile on his face.

Pidge bit her lip, irritation nearly forcing her to retort - she wasn’t sure what - but Olin beat her to it, saying, “We already do that, Paladin Lance. The energy for the satellite comes from either our planet’s electrical storms or the sun.”

Pidge hummed, crossing her arms and nodding. She’d noted the solar panels on the satellite’s exterior, though thanks to Triage 6’s orbit they would rarely get exposure. And to make up for that…

“The lightning overloads the satellite?” she guessed.

Both of Olin’s antennae twitched furiously as he admitted, “Yes, but not for long or often enough to be risky, Paladin Pidge.”

Pidge sighed but said, “Well, it’s your satellite, Olin.”

Olin’s mandibles shifted into his race’s equivalent of a smile. “Yes,” he said. “Shall we continue the tour?”

“Please do,” Pidge said, and she followed him out of the main control room, Lance trailing behind her.

“You think that lightning is dangerous?” Lance muttered to her as they walked.

Pidge shot him a glance, unsure what to tell him. On one hand, she wanted to be honest, to confess that the satellite’s very power source was an exploitable weakness in its design, but on the other…

Pidge didn’t know how he would react, not with him still under that quiznaking gun’s influence.

So she lied, “No. Olin told us it’s fine, right?” She smiled at Lance in what she hoped was a reassuring way, and exhaled a sigh of relief when he smiled back.

Olin then called to them, and Pidge, realizing they’d fallen behind, grabbed Lance’s wrist and rushed him forwards.

He surprised her by taking her hand and interlacing their gloved fingers.

Pidge’s mind and body ground to a halt in shock, her heart pounding as she stared wide-eyed at Lance. “Lance,” she hissed, “we’re on a _mission_.”

“Well, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he retorted.

Pidge smacked her other hand to her face and retorted, “We don’t have time for your mood swings, so please, let this go, and the sooner we can get back to the Castle, the sooner you won’t have to see Olin _looking_ at me, okay?”

Any other time, any other _way_ , and to her shame, Pidge might’ve been _ecstatic_ to have Lance jealous over her, but now she wanted to get on with this routine mission, to return to the Castle and sort out her feelings about an improperly infatuated Lance.

Lance stared at her for a long few tics, and Pidge, growing impatient, wrenched her hand from his and turned her back to him, approaching Olin.

“Is something wrong, Paladin Pidge?” Olin asked, blinking at her.

“No,” Pidge said, clearing her throat and hoping her face wasn’t red. “Everything is fine. What is it you wanted to show me?”

Olin gestured into the chamber ahead and said, “I thought you might want to see how we mitigate the effects of overload.”

“Oh,” Pidge said, blinking at the generators and batteries and flashing lights and all manner of transformers. “Wow.”

“Yes.” Olin ventured in, walking on a narrow path between two generators twice as tall as Lance, to the far wall. He rested his two-fingered hand on a switch bigger than Pidge’s head. “This is the switch to our main circuit breaker; without it, the power surges would be _far_ worse than what they are.”

“Huh,” Pidge said. She rested her hands on her hips, smiling. “It’s…not as thorough as I’d hoped, but it’s not bad.”

“Yes,” Olin agreed, “it could be much worse. Allow me to demonstrate.”

“Please,” Pidge said, holding her hands up, “that’s really not necessary.”

Olin grasped the switch in both hands and pushed it down.

The blaring of an alarm in the ceiling broke out, and she reflexively covered her ears as she shouted, “Why did you do that?”

“Vrepit sa!” he yelled over the alarm, and nearly shoved her aside in his rush to get away from the generators.

“Olin!” Pidge took a step after him, growling and summoning her bayard in one hand. But after reconsidering, she pressed a fingertip to her helmet, opening communications with the Castle, and said, “We’ve been double-crossed.”

Lance fell into step beside her, and Pidge demanded, “Why the quiznak didn’t you go after him?”

“I’m not leaving you!” Lance said, his bayard already shaped as his blaster. “What if he has friends?”

Pidge scowled, but then refocused her attention on the circuit breaker’s switch. She took it in both hands and pressed it up.

It didn’t budge, not even when she pushed all her weight against it.

“Well, fine, since you’re here,” she told Lance, “make yourself useful and flip this giant switch.”

Lance, for once, obeyed her without question, but even as he groaned in effort it refused to shift. “What the quiznak?” he muttered. “It…there’s no give!” He glanced at Pidge, eyes wide, and said, “We need to get out now! What if Olin has backup?”

“We can’t leave Triage 6 without their satellite,” Pidge reminded him. “This is part of the mission.”

“But your safety—”

“Lance,” Pidge said, pressing her hands to his cheeks and pulling his face down to her level, “forget about my safety. Right now, we’re worried about Triage 6 like good Paladins of Voltron, got it?”

Lance stared at her, warm, rapid breaths falling on her face, and when his eyes flicked down to her lips she thought that, for one absurd tic, he was about to kiss her.

She didn’t want to know what she would do if he tried.

But instead, he straightened, comfortably hefting his rifle in both hands, and said, “All right, you’re the boss. Let’s go catch a traitor.”

Pidge grinned, and they finally chased after Olin.

As they ran, Allura chimed in through her helmet’s speakers, “Pidge, Lance, what’s your status?”

“The satellite’s circuit breaker’s been compromised in some way,” Pidge explained through short breaths. “We’re attempting to apprehend the traitor on the satellite.”

“What happens if there’s no circuit breaker?” Allura wondered.

They passed by a viewscreen in the wall of the main hallway, installed for the aesthetic more than for any real functionality. It provided a perfect view of the beautiful gas giant, clouds of green, white, and pink swirling in its atmosphere, but an arc of lightning parted the gases and shot up.

“A power surge can down the satellite’s systems,” Pidge said shortly. “And if that happens, the surveillance equipment malfunctions and, at best, an enemy can sneak up on Triage 6.”

“How is that the _best_ case scenario?” Hunk chimed in.

Pidge sighed and said, “Because at worst the whole quiznaking satellite fails and we plummet to our deaths!”

“…oh,” Hunk said lamely. “Now I know how Lance feels most of the time.”

“Hey!” Lance screeched, indignant.

Pidge laughed, the interaction almost achingly _normal_ despite their situation.

They caught up to Olin in the control room, finding him fiddling with the communications systems. A projection burst into view over the panels, and a gravelly voice spoke, “Is it done?”

“Yes,” Olin said, “and two Paladins of Voltron are stranded with me, Commander.”

“Their Lions?”

Pidge’s eyes flew wide. She’d forgotten Green in the race to the control room, but now, blood rushing past her ears, she narrowed her focus, closing her eyes and calling out to the Green Lion.

The Green Lion reached towards her, strong vines winding around Pidge and enforcing their connection. Pidge breathed, and when she opened her eyes the wide blue sky of Triage 6 lay above.

She crouched, feeling the power in her limbs, and sprang upwards, propelling herself with energy that dwindled. She desperately needed her Paladin, without whom she’d fall back into stasis, vegetating for long years again…

She sped through space, a predator sprinting full tilt towards its prey, and between the forests of Triage 6 below and the swirling clouds of the gas giant above, a small vessel came into view. A worthy feat of intelligent engineering, but its accomplishments meant nothing to her while on the hunt.

She parted her jaws and roared.

Pidge gasped, a feral roar echoing all around her, and stared up at the ceiling panels of the control room. Strong arms wrapped around her, and distantly she heard a familiar voice:

“…the moon’s surface and shouldn’t give us much trouble.”

Pidge groaned and asked Lance, who held her, “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“You passed out,” Lance told her. “I had to catch you.”

Pidge scowled, and if her limbs didn’t feel so heavy she might’ve smacked him. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Uh, no?” Lance said. “You could’ve hit your head and—”

“Lance,” Pidge interrupted, “I am wearing a _helmet_. Do you know what those do?”

“What if there’s a fracture in your helmet?” Lance wondered, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge sighed and gave up. “Then help me up,” she said. “It’s too late to keep him from contacting the Galra, but Green’s on her way.”

“Wait, what?” Lance kept an arm around her back while he grasped her hand.

Pidge slowly got to her feet while Lance tugged her up, her legs shaking but holding steady as strength seeped back into her body. “I contacted Green,” she told him. “I must’ve gone under so much that I passed out.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “Just don’t do that a—”

The ground jerked under their feet, her heart skipping a beat with it, the only thing keeping her upright Lance’s arm behind her.

Olin, though, toppled over, just barely managing to protest, “What are you doing, Commander? Why are you firing at the satellite and not the moon?”

“We’re not there yet, Olin,” the commander replied.

Pidge grinned at the thrum of energy tingling under her skin as the Green Lion fired again at the satellite. “Keith’s not the only one who can do this,” she said cheerfully. Then, glancing at Lance, she added, “We need to get to an escape pod.”

“Uh…okay,” Lance said, but he grinned as she took his hand and led him from the control room.

“Did you hear that, Allura?” Pidge said into her helmet. “Green just attacked the satellite, and after Lance and I escape we need you to stave off any Galra that arrive.”

“We’ll be there, Pidge,” Allura assured her. “Just hold tight for another few doboshes.”

“Don’t take your time,” Pidge said as the connection clicked off.

When they reached the hall lined with escape pods, Pidge located the control panel and activated an interface between it and her computer. “Piece of cake,” she muttered, smirking as she found the settings she needed. “I just need to—”

The lights flickered off, the control panel dying less than a tic later.

Pidge scowled. “Quiznak, there was a power surge.”

“What do we do now?” Lance asked.

Pidge sighed, rubbing her face, and said, “Prying open an airlock with our bayards and having Green snatch us up might be our best - and quickest - bet.”

Lance laughed, sounding nervous. “Are you sure about that, Pidge? Because maybe we can fix—”

“We don’t have time before the Galra Olin contacted get here,” Pidge reminded him. “We need to get out _now_.”

“On the contrary,” Olin cut in. When Pidge spun around to glare at him, he raised the blaster in his hands and aimed it at her.

His antennae stood upright and still.

Pidge asked, “Why are you doing this? You’re as much a refugee as anyone else on Triage 6.”

Olin clicked his mandibles and confessed, “Well, unlike most of those, my planet still lives.”

“The Galra you contacted hold it hostage?” Pidge guessed.

“They do, Paladin Pidge,” said Olin. “Surely you understand.”

Pidge’s heart squeezed in her chest, and, without thinking about it, she reached for Lance’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I do,” she said. Then, under her breath, she hissed, “Blast the airlock open.”

“But—”

“ _Do it!_ ”

Lance dropped her hand, swinging his bayard at the nearest airlock. Mid-swing, it morphed into the Altean broadsword, its edge slashing a perfect cut through thick steel.

Olin fired his blaster at the same time as the airlock collapsed.

The vacuum of space swallowed Pidge in one great gulp, sucking her from the satellite. Her heart skipped a beat, blood rushing past her ears as she flailed her arms for purchase she knew she couldn’t find, and a flare of pain in her knee made her gasp.

“Lance!” she shouted, already searching for him in the vacuum, ignoring her head spinning and the sting in her leg. She pushed against a panel of debris from the satellite and fired up her armor’s jet pack.

“Pidge!” she finally heard through her helmet’s speakers.

“Where are you?” she asked. “What can you see?”

“The moon,” Lance replied. “Bits and pieces from the satellite, and…the Green Lion. Oh, quiznak, she just ate me.”

Pidge laughed, sagging in relief as the Green Lion sped into view. Her jaws split, swallowing Pidge, and she tumbled to the floor when the artificial gravity dragged her body down.

Pidge panted, out of breath, as her heartbeat steadied. She got her hands and knees, but before she could stand Lance was there, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against him.

“A-are you okay?” she wondered, gratefully returning his hug.

“Yeah, now that you’re safe.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, but heat rose to her face. “I need to stand,” she said. “The Galra will be here soon, so I’ll have to be—” She hissed in pain halfway to her feet, knees buckling.

Lance caught her before she fell, and as Pidge felt along her knee she noticed the damage in her armor.

“I-I think Olin shot me,” she realized.

“Oh, quiznak.” Lance picked her up, an arm slipping under her knees and behind her back before she could protest. “We need to get you back to the Castle and to a healing pod; you’re in no condition to fight.”

“Lance,” Pidge said as patiently as she could, “I’m fine. It’s just my knee.”

“Pidge,” Lance matched her tone while he carried her into the cockpit, “it’s your knee now, but if you wait too long it will be your leg, and then you won’t be able to walk, and _then_ —”

“Oh, shut your quiznak, Doctor,” Pidge said. “Now put me down. You don’t have to _carry_ me.”

“So you can walk and twist your knee while I can prevent it?” Lance retorted. “No, not a second time.”

Pidge stared at him as he carefully set her down in the pilot’s seat. “The _second_ time?”

Before he could reply, an incoming transmission sounded, “Pidge, this is Hunk. We’re here and ready to fight off the Galra, and from the way Lance made it sound, you need to be benched.”

“Hunk, it’s just my knee,” Pidge said.

“We can handle this, Pidge,” Allura said. “Come back to the Castle. Coran already has a healing pod ready for you.”

Pidge sighed and, with Lance’s fierce gaze on her, sensed she was beat. “Fine,” she said, and she changed the Green Lion’s course and flew towards the Castle approaching from a distance.

As soon as she touched down in the hangar, Lance was there, ready to carry her to the med bay.

“You _really_ don’t need to, Lance,” she grumbled.

“It’s my fault you got hurt in the first place, Pidge,” he said, tone subdued. “Please just give me this.”

Pidge blinked, her heart stuttering in her chest at his tone. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she told him. “You cut open the airlock, and if you hadn’t then—”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Lance said, scowling. “If I hadn’t lost my focus and sliced open the airlock, I could’ve protected you from Olin’s fire.”

Pidge gaped at him, but then she sagged, finding she didn’t have the energy to argue his twisted logic.

Lance hung back as Coran helped her into the healing pod. Pidge glanced over her shoulder at him, chest tight at the sight of his drawn face and averted gaze, but before she could tell him she didn’t blame him, the healing pod’s door materialized while the vessel filled with mist.

Pidge was under within tics.

* * *

Allura stood ready to greet Pidge when she stumbled out of the healing pod, one strong arm keeping her upright while her other hand flung Pidge’s arm around her neck. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Pidge rubbed sleep from her face and cautiously flexed her leg. “Tired,” she said, and when her stomach growled, she added, “And hungry.”

Allura laughed, though there was something strained around her smile, as she escorted Pidge from the med bay and towards the kitchen.

Inside, Coran slid a bowl of his special “Paladin Lunch” across the table. The scent of it made her stomach turn, but Pidge still tried forcing down a few bites to appease her appetite.

“Where’s Hunk?” she wondered, avoiding the question she _really_ wanted to ask.

“Hunk is on Triage 6,” Allura said, clasping her hands together on the table, “explaining to the refugees why their satellite is in pieces and telling them how Voltron will make it up to them.”

Pidge set her spork down and groaned. “We made a mess of it, didn’t we?”

Allura sighed and admitted, “It was, naturally, Chief Operator Olin’s fault, but Voltron must bear some of the blame for how messily you and Lance handled it.”

“I’m sorry, Princess,” she said. “I might’ve done better if I’d gone alone.” It hurt to admit, even made shame twist in her gut along with the undigested Paladin Lunch.

“I…yes, I know,” Allura said.

Pidge glanced at her, surprised. “You…know? Know what?”

Allura pressed her lips together. “Hunk told me what happened to Lance,” she said. “What _you_ did to Lance.”

Pidge sighed and dropped her forehead onto the table. “Where is he now?” she asked.

“He’s in his bedroom, sulking because he thinks your injury is his fault.”

“Quiznak,” Pidge breathed, but then she bolted upright and demanded, “How long was I in the healing pod?”

Allura frowned, then glanced at Coran, who said, “About half a quintant.”

“Th-that long?” Pidge said. She groaned, tilting her head back, and said, “The effects of that gun should’ve _faded_ by now.”

“Well,” Allura said carefully, “it seems they have not, and I’m charging you to figure out why.”

“Right,” Pidge said, even as her heart sank. “I, uh, I need to go see Lance.” She pushed her chair back, relieved to find that her legs supported her weight when she stood, and made for the door.

“Wait, Number Five!” Coran called from behind her. “What about your Paladin Lunch?”

“Feed it to the mice,” Pidge replied, and she left the kitchen and headed towards the Castle’s residential wing.

The entire way, she cycled through what she could say to Lance, to apologize that the effects of the gun hadn’t faded, to speculate why, to demand answers on what he was thinking prioritizing _her_ over the mission…

She paused outside his doorway, and before she could reconsider, she rapped on the door.

When no reply sounded from inside after a few tics, Pidge knocked again. “Quiznak, Lance, I know you’re in there!” she said.

The door finally slid open, but when Pidge stepped inside Lance was nowhere in sight.

“Where are you?” she asked, crossing her arms and surveying her surroundings. Little floorspace in Lance’s room was left clear, but whereas in her room it was all covered in clutter, here the equipment she’d rigged up to reconcile the Game Flux with Altean technology took up more space than it left.

“You’re not hiding in the closet, are you?” Pidge stood before the closet door, pressing the panel to open it, and shoved hanging clothes aside to peek in the back.

“How about the bathroom?” She treaded on smooth tile and into the shower before returning to the room and grumbling, “Lance, I’m not here to yell at you or anything. I’m just…” She trailed off at a flash of annoyance. “Look, you… _did_ jeopardize the mission, but it’s not your fault that _I_ got hurt, okay? Slicing open that airlock was one of the things you did right and it _saved_ us, so…” She sighed and glanced at his bed, then, noting a faint outline underneath the blanket, and perhaps a hint of dark brown hair poking out, she smirked and said, “You know, to make up for me getting hurt on your watch, you ought to give back the Game Flux.”

The blanket flew aside and landed in a lump on the floor, and Lance rose from his sarcophagus to stare at her.

“I knew that would get you out,” Pidge said smugly.

“Take it,” Lance said, waving towards the Game Flux and all its attachments. “I stole it from you, and I don’t deserve it since you’re angry with me.”

Pidge blinked at him, heart sinking as her manipulation backfired. “You should be back to _normal_ by now,” she said. “You shouldn’t be this, this, this _effusive_ about me anymore!” She buried her face in her hands and bit back a frustrated scream. “You’re not supposed to like me like this either.”

“What are you talking about?” Lance asked. Pidge looked up when he carefully tugged her hands away from her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Pidge hated the way her face warmed, both at the way he tenderly held her hands and at his low voice and words. Lance wasn’t in his right mind, and it wasn’t _fair_ that he could still put her all out of sorts.

“Y-you’re under the influence of that stupid Aviaran feelings gun,” she reminded him. “You only _think_ you like me.”

“I don’t feel like something is making me love you, Pidge,” Lance said, frowning.

Pidge’s heart skipped a beat, but she refused to let herself be convinced, not when all evidence implied the contrary. “That’s not you saying that,” she said, though the protest sounded weak even to her.

“Well,” Lance said, turning her hands around and staring at her palms, “you said that I should be back to ‘normal’ by now, so maybe _this_ is my normal.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, stunned by his logic that was surprisingly…plausible.

Except for the fact that he’d allow her to return the Game Flux to her room. No, if Lance was in his right mind, she’d have to sneak into his room while he was on a mission to take it back.

Pidge laughed, the absurdity of basing her judgment on the placement of a game console not escaping her, but she squeezed Lance’s hands and promised, “We’ll get you back to yourself.”

“What if I don’t _want_ to be back to ‘myself’?” Lance asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

Pidge sighed and noted how soft his hands felt pressed against hers, but rather than answer Lance she thought, _What if I don’t want you back to yourself either?_

* * *

The Green Lion rumbled around Pidge as Nithorn came into view, the anticipation of answers felt by both Lion and Paladin. And beneath the dense green canopy of the Nithornin forests lay the world of the Aviarans.

Beside her, Hunk cradled the bundle of disassembled Aviaran gun in his arms, and when the air pushed back on the Green Lion, causing turbulence, he stumbled and said, “Hey, careful!”

“Sorry,” Pidge said with an apologetic smile. “The atmosphere here is a little denser than I’m used to.”

The Green Lion gently touched down at the edge of a clearing where the semi-nomadic Aviarans made their camp, and as Pidge and Hunk disembarked from the Lion, a few of them approached, bright feathers rising in alarm until one stepped through them.

Pidge recognized Jay immediately for her brilliant blue feathers and powder-white crest. Sharp eyes landed on them, and from her bearing it was obvious that she was respected by her people…and knew it.

But that didn’t deter a Paladin of Voltron.

Pidge strode towards her without waiting for Hunk and demanded, “Explain to me how this weapon works.”

Jay blinked in surprise. “I…it was a gift for the Blue Paladin.”

“Yeah, and you lied about—”

Hunk cleared his throat and stepped between Pidge and Jay. “What she means to say is that the gun didn’t behave in the way we expected it to,” he said, shooting an annoyed glance at Pidge from over his shoulder. “Might we discuss what can go wrong with it?”

Jay’s eyes flicked from Pidge to Hunk and back again, but then she nodded, beckoning her gathered fellows to disperse before she guided them towards the Aviarans’ nests.

As they walked, Pidge swallowed, attempting to compose herself, and said, “Listen, you told Lance - the Blue Paladin - that this gun’s effects would fade in less than a quintant.”

“They do,” Jay said.

“Well, uh, what if they _don’t_?”

Jay halted in place and turned to face them. “What did you do?” she asked.

Pidge sighed and admitted, “I accidentally shot Lance over two quintants ago, but he’s still feeling the effects.”

The feathers on Jay’s neck stood on end, but she shook herself and said, “If it’s taking longer to fade than it should, then it means you amplified emotions that already existed.”

“But—wait, _what_?” Pidge said, her eyes wide.

Hunk whistled, but he raised his hands defensively when Pidge glared at him. To Jay he said, “So what you’re saying is that Lance is _actually_ in love with Pidge?”

Jay glanced between the two of them. “If that’s the effect the gun had, and that was her intention, then yes, it would seem so.”

Hunk laughed and smacked Pidge on the shoulder hard enough that she stumbled forward. After a muttered apology, he said, “I told him he should’ve told you himself. Guess it serves him right for not mentioning it sooner.”

Pidge barely heard him, too busy processing Jay’s and Hunk’s words. Her heart pounded and her face felt too hot, and Hunk’s words bounced around inside her head:

_Lance is actually in love with Pidge._

Pidge inhaled sharply, the rush of air helping to clear her head, then asked Jay, “How do we…reverse the gun’s effects then?”

“Pidge, didn’t you hear—”

“Yes, I did,” Pidge cut Hunk off, “and she said the thing _amplified_ his feelings. And besides, he’s not _acting_ like himself. Haven’t you noticed that?” She spun around to stare at him.

Hunk nodded and said, “Yeah, you’re right. So what do we do?”

Jay held her wings out, and Hunk placed the bundled up weapon in them. She carefully extricated it from inside, and said, “Crush the crystal and all lingering effects will disappear, though there might be some memory loss to the victim.”

_Victim_. Pidge bit back her shame and asked, “Can you crush it?”

Jay clicked her beak and admitted, “These crystals aren’t as brittle as you think. Only the one most attuned to it can crush it, and since _you_ are the one who last used it—”

“ _I_ have to crush it?” Pidge frowned dubiously at the sliver of clear crystal sitting on Jay’s wing, but she took it. Then, after inhaling a lungful of air, she pressed her fingers down.

It slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.

Pidge scowled at it, as if the crystal was to blame for all her problems.

“You must be sure of your decision,” Jay said. “If the crystal senses any uncertainty in your conviction, it won’t cooperate.”

“I _am_ sure!” Pidge retorted. “And what’s with all this mystical stuff? I’m a woman of _science_!”

Pidge knew that was a lame excuse though; she’d found herself meddling with quite a few ‘mystical’ materials since becoming the Green Paladin. But she didn’t know _what_ her conviction lacked.

Of _course_ she wanted Lance back to his usual, brave, goofy self! _That_ was the Lance she loved, not this overprotective, smothering, _infatuated_ shadow of a—

Pidge bent down and picked up the crystal. It sat in her palm, faintly sparkling in the sunlight, as a green tint filled it.

A calm fell over Pidge, and she balanced the crystal between her forefinger and thumb.

_I don’t care if Lance feels the same or not,_ she realized. _I just want him back to himself._

Pidge pinched, and the crystal cracked, snapping cleanly in half between her fingers.

She stared at the shards, watching as they faded from green to clear though she still held them in her hand. But then she shuddered, sagging, relieved of some invisible burden.

Hunk clapped his hands, jerking her from her reverie, and said, “I guess that’s the end of it?”

Pidge glanced at Jay, whose crest perked up slightly as she nodded. Then she sighed and replied, “Yeah, Hunk, I guess it is.”

* * *

Pidge trudged straight to her bedroom after returning from Nithorn, only emerging for dinner. When she saw Lance, she found him the meal. Biting her lip, she swallowed her cowardice and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Lance put a hand to his head and admitted, “Kind of drained, actually. Guess I really wasn’t in my right mind, huh?”

Pidge blinked at him. “What do you remember?” she asked.

Lance screwed up his eyes, tapping his chin. “Not too much,” he said. “Some of the mission - I should’ve trusted you’d be okay and went for Olin right away - and, well…you threatened to take the Game Flux?”

Laughter bubbled from Pidge, surprising her, but then again, Lance never failed to put a smile on her face. “I didn’t _threaten_ ,” she said. “You told me to take it.”

“No, that can’t be right,” Lance said. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and pointed out, “You just said yourself that you weren’t in your right mind.”

Lance chuckled, reaching a hand forward before he dropped it. “Yeah, and thanks for putting me back into it.”

Pidge shifted her feet, the atmosphere suddenly awkward again, and looked down. “It was nothing,” she told him. “I…like you better like yourself anyway.”

“Did I…try to kiss you?”

Her head shot up at the question. She wiped her hands on her shorts, taking in Lance’s frown. Was the idea that unappealing to him?

But Pidge shook her head and said, “No, you didn’t.”

Lance smiled in relief. “Good,” he said, shoulders sagging, “that’s good.”

“Would it really have been that bad?” she wondered before she could stop herself, the heaviness in her heart winning out over reason.

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, bouncing on his feet, and asked, “Would what have been that bad? Kissing you?”

Pidge bit her lip and stared past him, then replied, “Yeah.”

“Well…” When her gaze flitted back to him, he rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn’t look at her. “Not…exactly?”

Pidge crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that it would’ve been unwelcome to you,” Lance explained while gesturing with his hands, “and on the slight chance that it _was_ welcome, I…well, that’s something worth remembering.” He frowned at the floor, his face red.

Pidge’s heart pounded as she gaped at him, something wild and hopeful making her stomach flutter. She recalled Jay’s and Hunk’s words, beginning to _dare_ to hope, and blurted, “Do you actually like me?”

Lance looked at her, then looked away again just as quickly, an odd, almost faraway smile on his face. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I like you a lot, Pidge.”

Her own mouth twitched up into a smile without her permission. “That’s good then,” she told him.

He finally met her eyes and held them. “Why?”

Pidge took his hands in her sweaty ones and tugged him towards her. She then balanced on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Will you remember that?”

Her breath hitched when Lance caught her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers. She clutched the front of his jacket and tilted her head as blood rushed to her face.

Lance pulled away and rested his forehead on hers. “Yeah,” he said with a grin, “I think I’ll remember.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
